


too young to be old (but too old to be young)

by klixxy



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Canonical Child Abuse, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, Post-War, Serious Injuries, They all need hugs, Violence, Zuko Needs a Hug, basically be gaang being traumatized, because realistically, who wouldn't???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21847648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klixxy/pseuds/klixxy
Summary: Because in the end, that’s what they are, isn’t it?They’re just children.
Relationships: Aang & Toph Beifong & Katara & Sokka & Suki & Zuko, Aang & Zuko (Avatar), Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Katara & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), Suki & Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar), Toph Beifong & Zuko
Comments: 28
Kudos: 1108
Collections: avatar tingz





	too young to be old (but too old to be young)

**Author's Note:**

> A:TLA DOESN'T BELONG TO ME IN ANY WAY OR FORM
> 
> WARNING: CONTAINS DESCRIPTIONS OF ABUSE AND VIOLENCE AND WAR.

The first thing Zuko does as his eyes open in the aftermath of the fight against his sister, after he confirms that they have really, truly beaten Azula, is run away. Or, perhaps, worded differently, _limp_ away, one arm wound around Katara as she supports most of his weight, one hand gripped tightly around the new burn _(now he has a burn from his father on his face and a burn from his sister on his chest)_ out of the courtyard of a palace that he’d known so well, a palace that he’d grown up in, a palace that no longer felt like home and yet felt so, undeniably familiar.

He had spent years and years of his life-- all of the long, never-ending years of his banishment longing for these halls, for the scent of burning ash, for the pride of the man he had called his father, the man he had been willing to throw away _everything_ for-- and now…

And now he was running away.

Listening with an almost eerie hollowness in his chest as the sounds of his sister’s screams, the sound of her sanity, ripped to shreds. 

_(Perhaps at one point she had loved him, truly, unconditionally, like at one point how he had loved her, his precious little sister-- how he had been so proud when she had first lit a fire in her palm, how he had used to teach her how to fight, playfully bantering with her, treasuring her smiles before-- before she dunked his head beneath the freezing water of the well, held him there, even as he struggled and screamed and went still under the loss of the breath in his lungs, and burnt his fingers at his father’s request because he was **weak** , too **weak--** )_

_(Perhaps, in another world, if Ozai had been half the father Hakoda had been, half the parent Monk Gyatso had been, if Ozai had had even a quarter of the love and fullness in Aang’s heart, then they-- the broken, evil Fire Lord family, could have been happy, could have brought peace to their nation-- but they had never been meant for that kind of life, had they? They had always been messed up, manipulative, shattered in the inside--)_

He lets Azula’s rageful roars, unintelligible at this point, fade away as he limps through the halls he had once called home, his vision blurring in and out, the warmth and solid presence of Katara’s body against his, her familiar, passionate voice murmuring loudly to try to drown out the wails of his sister, helping him focus on the present.

Helping him focus not on the ruins of his family, of his home, of the Fire Nation around him, but instead on the single air balloon that lands in the open space in front of the palace. 

_(But it hadn’t been open space before, there had been a pond there, a pond with a family of turtleducks and a sakura trees and laughter and **mom--** )_

The door opens, creaking loudly, and for a moment Zuko holds his breath, heart thumping wildly even though he knows that it has to be Aang and Sokka and Suki and Toph, knows that it can’t possibly be his father because if it had been his father the entire world would have been razed to the ground as the comet had passed the sky-- the door opens wider and his train of thought ends, screeching to a stop on the rails as Katara stiffens.

And, even as his heart does loop-de-loops in his chest, it’s not the face of a Fire Nation general that steps out, it’s Aang. Aang, with the blue arrow proudly stamped on his forehead, Aang, with his warm grey eyes, Aang, who always has a wide smile on his face, Aang, who looks and beaten and tired from war. After Aang steps Suki, her clothes torn, her hair choppy, her eyes narrowed and weary, soot dusting her face. Toph shoves Sokka out of the way, gentler than she normally would, and her gray eyes and mischievous smile look more downcast and worn-out than they have for a long, long while _(--perhaps for the first time since she had spoken with Uncle that day with his tea and his sayings and-- Zuko still needs to apologize properly-- get down on his knees before his kind, gentle, loving Uncle, and let the pleas and excuses cascade from his lips--)_ , and finally, out steps Sokka, and while he is missing any life-threatening injuries, he looks battered and his lively eyes are dark-- they are not the eyes of a teenager, not the eyes of someone whose main problems should have been complaining about girls and homework and not worrying over his life, worrying over his friends’ lives, worrying about the lives of the rest of the world, fighting in a war against a man who could bend fire with only his will and his hands, a man that did not hesitate to burn his own child’s face, and yet here they are.

And yet here they are.

Two twelve-year-olds.

A fourteen-year-old.

Three sixteen-year-olds.

Faced with the aftermath of a war that had stolen lives-- stolen brothers and sisters and uncles and cousins and mothers and fathers and grandparents and _children._

They are teenagers. Teenagers who had just won a war, defeated a Fire Lord, teenagers who were hurt and scared, and yet held the burden of the lives of the rest of the world on their shoulders.

As they stare at each other across the wide, broken expanse of the battlefield, the sound of Azula’s defeated, broken, haunting voice echoing from even across hundreds of tens of feet, they are suddenly hit with what being an Avatar means. With what _saving the world_ means. 

And it hurts. It hurts like a sucker punch to the gut, like the death of a mother, the terror of a war, like the hands of a father, burning the soft skin of his own son’s face.

It hurts.

All the things that they have done.

All the things that they will have to do.

This war is far from over.

Sokka will have to travel far and wide, moving from country to country, kingdom to kingdom, leader to leader, trying to mop up the messes, the cut ties left behind from the flames. He won’t be able to properly return home for a while _(if not forever)._

Suki will have to return to her village, return to her warriors, make sure that they have all escaped. That they are all alive. Bury the dead. She will have to rule the fearsome Kyoshi warriors, have the burden of trade, of being a ruler, having innocent lives on her shoulders.

Toph will have to go the Earth kingdom, try to regain what dignity that Ba Sing Sei has left, try to help the King learn how to be king, try to represent the noblewoman that she is not.

Katara will have to bear the burden of being one of the few waterbenders alive, will have to bear the burden of keeping a legacy that the world has buried among the ashes, a village that has been reduced to nothing but a shadow of its former self.

Aang will have to be the Avatar, the last, shimmering hope in the world, the savior of humankind. Aang will have to be diplomatic where he lacks, cunning and manipulative, which he so hates, and he will have to be chained to a single job-- things airbenders cannot handle. Aang will have to be strong enough to hold all of the dreams of the young, the cries of the poor, the screams of the wicked. He will have to be strong enough to be someone unshakeable, _something_ unshakeable.

And Zuko-- Zuko will have to become Fire Lord. He will have to face the Fire Sages and have his coronation ceremony in the middle of the dusty ruins among the music of his sister’s psychopathic wails. He will have to write a letter calling off an army-- one with brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers and cousins and fiances and husbands and lovers and mourners and grievers and revengers and evil and good and _teenagers._ Children his age, forced to see their comrades fall, forced to feel just how warm their blood is as it trickles down their chins, forced to feel the agonizing pain of having an arm torn off, forced to feel the burning heat of _fire_ \-- their own fire, the opponent’s fire, the fire of the same generals who sent _children_ into _war_ \-- as it sears through the veins, sears across their skin. 

Children. Hundreds of thousands of children. 

Dead. 

Zuko will have to call off an army of innocent, of traumatized, of soldiers, of his _fellow countrymen_ , from destroying the great, towering walls of the last hope of the Earth kingdom, of the last hope of the world, with his pale, trembling, sixteen-year-old fingers. 

Zuko will have to bear the responsibility of picking up the pieces of a broken Nation-- of having to remind palace servants that they will not be executed if they trip on their feet, having to heal all of the soldiers brought back from war, having to bury all of the dead, having to send out search parties for the missing. Having to set up foster homes for those who have lost it all, and having to set up donation centers for those who have had it much too lucky. Having to talk to orphaned kids and convince them to keep going, having to fix the screwed up education system that teaches lies to their students. Having to bring smiles to the faces of those who have watched their world burn, having to be able to convince the world that fire doesn’t only destroy, but can also bring life, can also _build._

Zuko will have to fix all of the mistakes that his father made, that his grandfather made, that his _great-grandfather_ made. 

Zuko will have to teach an entire Nation how to laugh again. 

It’s an impossible task. 

Each and every one of their jobs are daunting. 

They each have a million things they have to do. 

A world that they still needed to protect. 

A thousand responsibilities. 

They are the Avatar and his friends-- the saviors of the world. 

And yet, in this moment, staring from one, familiar, battle-worn face to another, staring into each other's eyes and seeing memories of destruction and fire, yet alive all the same-- all that they can feel is relief. 

Because they are all here. 

Sokka’s leg may be broken and they may all be bruised and bleeding and Zuko might not be able to stand on his own, and while nobody has the strength to run across the pile of debris to wrap each other into one big hug…They are all here. 

And they are all still breathing. 

And sometimes, when they are drowning beneath titles and views and expectations, it is so, so, _easy_ to forget that they are just children, that they are just barely teenagers, spending their childhood fighting a war that should never have been meant for the eyes of children, should have been meant for the adults, the stronger, the more experienced. 

_(And yet, Katara thinks, remembering the way Zuko’s heartbeat had waned in his chest, the way her hands could not stop shaking as she had tried to heal him, tried to tell herself that it wasn’t not too late, that Zuko’s chest was still moving, that Azula’s taunts across the courtyard were lies, that Zuko couldn’t possibly die. He always looked so strong, so unflinching, even he had unhesitantly leaped in front of the bolt of lightning that had been meant for her, even as he was flung back in a cacophony of sound and light, even as he had crumpled into the ground. But as he had lied there, the hideous lightning burn on his chest, he had looked so, undeniably young, so small and pale and deathly still that Katara had wondered, in shock, if, in another world, he could have lived a normal life, could have been a happy teenager and not a soldier in a war, a boy forced to defeat his own family as they tried to burn the world down.)_

For a long minute, the yard is quiet as Aang, Sokka, Suki, and Toph step off of the balloon completely. After another moment of shocked, fatigued silence, taking in each other’s states across the yard, the first sound to pierce the silence is not laughter. It is not smiles and pride from defeating the Fire Lord. 

Instead, Sokka starts to cry, shaking his head as he leans heavily against the rocks, crumpling to the ground at the sight of all of them, alive. 

_(Zuko remembers him, just before they had all split up, just before he had gone to fight Azula, staring at him with hard eyes: “I might not be a bender, nor the best fighter around, but I would do anything for Katara. Zuko, please promise me that you will protect her.”_

_He remembers answering resolutely: “I promise, Sokka.”_

_He also remembers the burn of the lightning as it hit his skin.)_

Katara sobs quietly then, allowing herself to break, allowing herself just this one moment to be the one that needs comforting and not the one giving it. 

_(It’s a hazy memory, but Zuko thinks he can also remember Katara sobbing before this too, crying as he struggled to breathe around the burning in his chest.)_

Aang breaks at the sound of her voice, but instead of outright sobbing, he just sniffs quietly, trying and failing to swallow back his tears. 

_(Aang had made him promise something too, before the whole thing unfolded. His normally warm eyes had looked like steel, like a storm, about to crash as he had talked._

_“Zuko, you have to come back to us. Come back to us alive. Promise me.”_

_And Zuko had found it harder to promise, this one. He was used to being told that his life was nothing-- that he mattered nothing. He was used to being punished, used to being hated, used to being the outcast._

_Here, with people he trusted, and people who trusted him, he was the opposite of such._

_“Okay,” he’d said. “Okay.”)_

Suki breathes loudly, obviously trying to hide the wetness in her own eyes, but it’s a vain struggle. 

She starts to cry. 

_(She’d grinned at him, before everything had gone to hell._

_“Spar with me later, when all of this is over, oh great Crown Prince Zuko.” She’d said._

_And, at one time, he may have seen it as a challenge, as a declaration of war. This time, he saw it as it truly was, a promise to come back again, a promise to exchange fists, exchange banter and smiles and fears._

_She was truly a mystery, Suki was.)_

And even Toph. Strong, brave, unyielding Toph, breaks. Her unseeing eyes well up with tears as she hears her friends-- her one and only friends, who she would trust with her life, trust with her back, trust with a million things she thought would never trust anyone with-- start to rip at the seams. 

_(Toph, she hadn’t even needed to say anything, she hadn’t needed any stupid promises or anything of the sort. All she’d offered, was a large, twisting smile, and a solid fistbump._

_Zuko thinks, that Toph is some magical spirit, just like all of Aang’s creepy magical spirit friends, because with that fistbump, he had somehow felt like he had just been given a little bit of courage, a little bit of Toph herself, like an adrenaline rush.)_

And then, standing there, watching all of his friends-- the heroes of the world, cry out, listening to the little sniffs and hiccups they let out, seeing how his make-shift family _(because they were a better family than his had ever been-- except for Uncle, sweet, sweet, Uncle--)_ hunches in on themselves, makes themselves smaller as they let out all the fear, the stress, the sorrow, the rage from these war-filled years out, Zuko feels an odd, burning lump in his throat. 

He knows what it is. 

it’s something that he hasn’t done in a long time. 

Something that he hasn’t _dared_ do in a long time. 

>But, Zuko thinks, as the tears finally run down his cheeks, as he lets the first wail push out of his lips, that he’s allowed to break down like this. 

They’re allowed to be weak like this, for just a moment, in the aftermath of such a big, life-changing event.<

They’re allowed to act their age, for once. 

They’re _allowed,_

to be children. 

Because in the end, that’s what they are, isn’t it? 

They’re just children. 

They’re just teenagers, who shouldn’t have to bear this burden, who shouldn’t have had to fight a man who planned to raze the world to the ground, shouldn’t have had to save the world. 

Regardless of all the things that they’ve done, the things that they regret, the fights they have won. Regardless of the people that they’ve faced, the people that they’ve loved, the people that they’ve lost. Regardless of the friends that they’ve made, the grief that they hold, the worlds that they can never regain. Regardless of the Avatar, of banishment, of dead parents, of unseeing eyes. Regardless of gender, of emotion, of blood, and war. 

Regardless of the things that they have seen, done, heard, felt, 

in the end, that’s just simply what they are. 

They are just 

children. 

\------ 

_(And Zuko-- Zuko lets himself go in a way that he hasn’t let himself do for years and years and years. Zuko lets himself fall to the ground in a way that doesn’t involve pain, doesn’t have him looking for the next fight, looking for the next way to please his father. He lets himself cry in a way that isn’t just for show, isn’t fake or made scarce, hidden beneath an exterior of strength. He allows himself to cry in that deep, wrenching way, and that almost scares him, the wails that seem so unlike his own voice._

_And Zuko-- Zuko lets himself cry. He lets himself cry for his mother, for his grandfather, for his sister, for Mai, for his father, his childhood, his fears, his sorrows, his scars, his Uncle._

_Zuko lets himself cry._

_For once, the universe lets him.)_


End file.
